


Life Flashes By

by Farstrider



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:57:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farstrider/pseuds/Farstrider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: As Death itself looms in the distance, coming closer at a frightening rate, a man reflects on his life in what he is sure is his last moment. </p>
<p>AKA: one of my Draenei OC's Back stories</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gone Fishing

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Some of this might not be completely accurate and I warn you its LONG… but it didn't want me to cut it down and has consumed me for the last four days. Originally written for the Warchick Challenge on DeviantART. 
> 
> Contains adult things including insinuated sex, consensual and non, blood, gore, death, drinking, and love between two people… both hetero and homosexual… don't like it there's plenty out there you can enjoy without setting me on fire.

He hadn't been back to Auberdine since his early years on Azeroth, back when he was just learning the real ropes of being a hunter. Sitting on the long pier, his companion Ragabash curled up at his side dozing he cast his line into the sea once more. The scrawny cinnamon colored worg from the north seemed to fit the hunter well some of the Sentinels thought as they walked past. The draenei was smaller than most, standing only a head taller than a human would, less powerfully muscled, a bit scrawny too. His abnormally long tail curled around his side and over the pier's edge, looking as flexible as any of his limbs. His long ash blond hair pulled into a tall tail, strands falling over his shoulders and his 'devil's horns'. He was a handsome fellow, intriguing as a male of the species who was decorated with piercings along his ears and lower lip, a single white wolf's paw tattoo on his exposed shoulder contrasting with the darkness of his skin.  
  
 _/when will Ranbrother stop hunting floppy stink meat and we go?_ / Ragabash's thoughts spoke to him through their bond, the young worg giving everyone he knew interesting nicknames.  
  
 _/It’s fishing…I'm bringing some back to the Exodar._ / Ran replied, pulling at his rod only to see a fish had taken his bait without biting the hook.   
  
/ _Ranbrother is stalling…/_  
  
Ran winced as he recast his line. Yes… he was indeed stalling. He'd gotten a letter from an old friend saying he should come back to the Exodar and visit since he was done his tour up in Northrend. Said friend, a happily married man to a very happy to have a man to cater to her 'needs' woman, had since the Wrath Gate put it upon himself to bring his friend back into the fold of society.  
  
He'd also started playing matchmaker.  
  
Three times so far he'd met up with his friends Jadira and Meloraan and their attempted choice of companion for the wild tracker and three times it ended up in a socially unmitigated disaster. The first woman had been someone he knew back from the smuggling days and she still saw him as that scrawny little scrapper and it brought up all kinds of awkward things. The second woman hated dogs…a fact that Ragabash was none too happy about and demonstrated by pissing on the mage's enchanting bag. The last… ended up sleeping with the married couple after a few drinks and limited conversation.  
  
So when this letter came down inviting him to visit his friends and 'the nice shaman from the guild' he intended to stall as long as he could before someone just came out to look for him. He'd made it as far as Auberdine before he started to have reservations about going.  
  
Jadi would call him a wuss. Maybe she was right.  
  
Shaking his head he looked down at the water to his bobber, hoping that he hadn't missed a bite. His eyes went wide at the shimmering stream of silver beneath his feet. Fish, hundreds of them, were fleeing from the north. Ragabash stood up, his tail between his legs even as his hackles rose and he snarled towards the north.   
  
"What is it boy?" Ran too got up, turning to look the same way.  
  
All he saw was fire.  
  
/ _Death comes…_ /  
  
The blast wave of air hit them first, buckling the pier sending unwitting elves into the water. His tail whipped out behind him to help keep his balance, refusing to look away, refusing to blink in the face of… whatever that was.  
  
Wings aflame on a body black as the void with eyes that burned with Rage…  
  
The sea crashed over them at the same time as the flames, hurling the hunter into the air to be burned and drowned at the same time. He could feel Ragabash's frantic calling, tried to reach out… something in the rip current tore at his arm…  
  
Then he struck something, or something struck him, hard and unyielding…then…only darkness…


	2. Early Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaaran's earliest memories of life on Draenor including his parents and being a child in the conflict with the Orcs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hints at non-con and underage you are warned

He hated Vindicator. Hated him with all the fire in his empty belly and all rage someone his age could muster. Vindicator was big, very big and he wore big armor and used a big sword. His hands were big when they hit him or Mama, and his voice loud and hurt like his fists. He didn't know what 'bastard' was but it wasn't his name.  
  
Mama called him Chaaran… that was his name. His name made Mama smile a little secret smile and she said he reminded her of an angel… the one who'd given him to her. He asked if the angel would come back… it made her cry. He never asked again.  
  
Vindicator hated the angel… said bad words and beat up Mama when she mentioned him. Mama couldn't leave… Vindicator was a big important man in town, everyone loved him.  
  
Chaaran hated him.  
  
One night the Orcs attacked town, and everyone escaped into the safety zones while Vindicator and his fellow big men fought them off. Chaaran hadn't made it with Mama… the fighting separated them.  
  
Vindicator took him by the arm… and threw him over the city wall when no one was looking. He screamed when his arm broke from the grip, when he hit the hard earth beyond the wall. But it was a short one, because the Orcs were suddenly there, and he wouldn't cry in front of the Orcs…  
  
Vindicator had beaten the tears out of him.  
_____________________________________________________________________   
  
The Orcs had sold him to slavers, trading him for weapons. The Etherials put him with the rest of the Draenei slaves and began the march across the Bone Wastes on their way around Shattrath to Hellfire. The Fel Orcs liked Draenei slaves, paid good money for them too.  
  
Juri looked down at the boy who walked beside her. The poor thing, she thought looking over the dark skinned boy. His silvery blond hair was matted with blue blood, his arm broken and he had a limp. His tail was rather long, almost too long for someone his age, and compared to how tall he was… well he was either very young or just small. A runt, a genetic weakling to some but a sweet child to her. Every child deserved to be thought of like that.  
  
His hardened storm colored eyes weren't like that though, the eyes of a child, as he glared at the Etherials. They'd beaten him a few times for trying to stop them from selling some of the Females. Hadn't stopped them, but he'd tried. He was such a cute little gentlemen.  
  
The attack was swift and sudden, occurring right on the edge of nightfall. Bandits, or cultists… or something swept down from the hills and one after another after another fell to their blades and spears and arrows. The guards protected the masters, not the merchandise… but died anyway.  
  
Juri grabbed the boy and fled with the other women towards the forest, and even though he tried to wiggle free she held him tight, knowing she was hurting his injuries but he didn't cry in pain, just anger. The women hid in the shadows of a few giant trees, watching, waiting…  
  
They came from all sides almost, the first simply plunging his spear into the shadows and hitting a mark. They were laughing, slowly taking pleasure in killing the slaves.   
  
"Spare him…" she begged, as she was dragged by her hair out into the open. The boy was already half hidden beneath two dead bodies, his skin covered in their blood. "He is just a child…"  
  
The man's sword went through her throat, clean through her spine. Her hands grasped at the blade, she struggled for breath. "Have… mercy…."  
  
They threw her body; still in the throes of death atop the pile in the little hiding place and just walked away… the wolves would clean up the child.  
  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
  
Chaaran was not eaten, not by wolves at any rate. A troop of wandering mercenaries found the massacre and eventually the boy hidden among dead bodies, numb almost to the world but alive.   
  
He was mended, and they wondered what to do with him. Someone gave him a sword and told him to prove his worth or he'd be sold… the Draenei who said that found himself missing a thumb in the next breath.  
  
They kept him… pointed his anger and hate in a direction. They sent him into the City for supplies, because they'd give them to a kid more than they would to a bunch of mercs. When the boy came back beaten with nothing they reminded him of his place with a beating followed by a few days healing. When he came back limping and he wouldn't let anyone look at him but he had the goods no one questioned it. When he came back bloody with twice the goods they gave him a cut.  
  
Some of the men found him nice lookin. Didn't talk much, didn't complain. Held him the right way and he didn't struggle too much either when someone chose to take their fun out of the supple body. Merc women were dangerous… too dangerous sometimes.  
  
Dumb kids weren't… so long as you kept a blade out of his hands. Eventually he traded 'it' for food or money or other things he needed among the mercs. A few took the offer; others just gave him what he needed.   
  
Their little runner boy grew up fast, into a teenager with deadly skills and full of fire and anger. They'd made him a right good scout… and a weapon.  
  
No one took from Ran… he gave, or offered… or relented… but no one Took. Though it took three dead men for that little message to get across.


	3. Teenaged Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A clear memory of Chaaran's teenage years as a mercenary and a smuggler and just...not one of everyone else...
> 
> Introductions to Meloraan the Anchorite

Night gripped the forest, the stars above obscured by the high canopy. Huddled together in a tight line, a collection of families and sick moved through the undergrowth, not so overgrown along this path, as if it had been recently cleared. They were surrounded by militia, a handful of harbingers, vindicators and other brave souls were trying to smuggle refugees out of the orc controlled city. Naaru encampments littered the forest and surrounding areas but civilians needed to be taken out of the combat zone.  
  
The group paused in an open area, the lead harbinger holding up his hand. He knew this area was often patrolled by warp stalkers, the deadly reptiles may be laying in wait. He looked about… where the Fel was their scout!  
  
There was a tell tale hiss in the area ahead, just as a warp stalker burst out of the foliage. At first he thought it was charging but… several throwing spears were sticking out of its hide, it wouldn't last long… it was running. The creature warped, a last ditch effort, into the brush on the opposite the clearing. Something fell from the trees; there was a loud thump, the sound of breaking bones and one final hiss then… silence. The leader poked his head out to see what had happened. Something moved to the side of the group, weapons were drawn, spells prepared…  
  
The harbinger relaxed, seeing the slender figure come out of the brush. Only standing at about six and a half feet, maybe a bit smaller, short horns sticking up in front of an unruly tail of ash blond hair, skin nearly black like the shadows of night, spattered now in blood… was their scout. He looked a mere boy to some of the refugees, built not as strong or defined as the rest of the soldiers around them. He had a satchel across his back; several long branches had been honed down to javelins, hanging on his hips two short scimitars shone with gore in the scant light. His face was smooth, if expressionless, and his storm blue eyes turned to the lead.  
  
' _Way's clear_ ' the words came through the link the smugglers shared, the tones quiet, cool, almost emotionless. The boy moved to the head of the column again. 'We go this way to the hills, there are boats waiting for us to take the journey through the canals to Telredor. Once there, I'll take my leave.' None of them doubted the truth of his words as he loped into the field, his tail, much longer than most, was stretched out behind him, keeping balance in his almost hopping gait.   
  
As the group followed he stayed just within sight, only disappearing when the group had to stop, circling around to hide their tracks. They reached the border of the marsh much sooner than they had thought they would, and the only obstacle left for them now was a short climb. There was a path, but it was heavily patrolled. Some of the refugees looked at the sloping, rocky cliff face with worry. Some were not strong enough to take such a climb…  
  
The boy was ahead of them suddenly, moving so quietly despite the rocky ground, the mail armor he was in; and it unnerved some of the women. How long had this... this… child been out here doing this? He looked up the face, uncoiling something from around his chest, a long length of rope. Holding it in one arm he began to climb… or more rock hop, choosing his destination and with a leap, propelled by powerful legs, balanced by that odd tail of his, landing exactly where he wanted to. Each leap, he pushed a metallic ring into the earth, looping the rope through it… a guide line. The path up looked much less dangerous now, the path of least resistance marked by the dark cord and at the top, he tied it around a stone, before waving them up.  
  
When the last had gotten to the top, they noticed several canoes waiting, and more soldiers in the colors of Telredor waiting for them. People sighed in relief, cheered silently and clapped the smugglers on the shoulders. Few approached the boy, who was pulling his rope back up the hill.   
  
"'Ran, good work." The leader of the Telredor guard called to the boy. "You sure you don't want to come with us, there's space." It was the same offer, given every time they met, on the road, on the canals or at the base of the town itself.  
  
"No." the boy… who sounded more of a man, voice deep but quiet, reserved and cold. "There are patrols out tonight. I'm going to reroute them."  
  
"By your self?" Ran's attention turned to the one who asked: the group's medic. Ran nodded, coiling the rope back around his torso.   
  
"If I don't come back… you'll know I failed. Otherwise, Meloraan… I'll see you next run." The anchorite twisted his staff in dismay as the young man, no older than himself by a single season, leapt off the cliff back into the darkness. They'd met many times this way, only to part so quickly after. The anchorite's heart knew something profound had changed in the harbinger… maybe it was new but many times when he saw Ran he knew it was an old hurt.  
  
And every time he saw him… he was less and less a Draenei… and more a creature of the wild.


	4. I've been on this beach before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world flickers between then and now...memories of being stranded on a beach before when Chaaran arrived on Azeroth

Somewhere in the distance, beyond the memories and the endless black he could hear the sea…the feel of rain falling on his skin that didn't truly feel it belonged to him. A distant, detached sensation. He could hear what seemed like rumbling thunder…the sound of paws on wet sand.  
  
 _/Ranbrother! Where are you?!/_  
  
The sea rushed up to swallow him again, invading his lungs, filling him up like an empty cup…  
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
  
Lightning cracked an alien sky, rain pouring down from clouds still choked with smoke and ash from the fallen Exodar. The flair of light illuminated part of the crash site, blinding the barely moving survivor temporarily. Something hissed, making a guttural sound off to his right, but he could not get that side of him to move to respond. Blinking wildly Chaaran could see shadows moving from the water, heard the familiar rumble of a Naga's growl. Looking over his side he could see he was pinned beneath wreckage, his leg, tail and arm along the right side were pinned, broken. He could feel blood pooling around him yet part of him ached to retaliate. Water lapped up his body… he was in the sand, the salt burning his open wounds like fire.  
  
The naga coiled up to its full height, fans along its back rattling as it raised its trident into the air. Lightning cracked the sky once more, illuminating the Draenei's death. A second flash filled the air… but it wasn't lightning. The image of a sphere of silver light, dotted with darker points appeared above the naga… and a brilliant pulse of hot violet light struck down upon the creature, frying its skin, draining it of moisture. It hissed and turned, only to be struck again by the scorching light. In its illumination, Chaaran saw something, a small form hands stretched in the air, a voice on the wind calling down the light. The naga moved swiftly charging the creature. It moved aside with speed and grace, hardly touching the sand beneath its feet. Now standing between the naga and the fallen Draenei the creature was hardly his own height, short hair drifting in the wind of the storm, long ears ragged on the under sides, hands held in claws. Another hiss filled the air as a second naga appeared in the surf.   
  
"R… un…" he tried to warn, his left hand reaching out, to try and tell the creature to go. It glanced back at him, eyes glowing gold before it ran towards its foes. Too stunned to close his eyes, Chaaran watched the slender thing begin to… change.  
  
Muscles and fur suddenly covered the lithe form, the roar of defiance in the air becoming the roar of some massive beast, body large, and fur black in the night. The creature reared, massive paws, ended in claws as large as daggers, swiped at the first naga, disemboweling it, sending it to fall to the sand like so much soon to be rotting meat. The beast turned to face the other, who brandished a vicious sword. Both bellowed at each other, in defiance, in rage, and charged. They fell to the sand a tumble of claws and fur, teeth and blades. They separated, and it was obvious both were badly injured. A green light, the sound of a breeze swirled around the creature, the form becoming for an instant, the female creature before it crouched to leap again, body arching in a graceful pounce. The form shifted flawlessly into a great cat, massive fangs and razor sharp claws falling heavily onto the naga in a howl of primal fury.  
  
Lightning continued to illuminate the sky, the only sound other than the sea waves and the harsh breathing of the two alive on the beach. The cat loped towards Chaaran, sniffing around him, the long dark ears twitching as it listened for potential threats. The intelligence in the creature's eyes astounded Chaaran, and he could only look dumbly on as it shifted once again into the massive beast. Paws and jaws clamped round the metal holding him down, and began to pull. He screamed in pain, howling into the wind but the creature did not cease until it was on its hind legs again, pulling the entire frame of the side of the pod off of him, throwing it through the air as if it were made of paper. His vision blurred with pain, his body shaking harshly in the onset of shock.  
  
Hands, not paws, touched his skin and face. The glow of that green breeze was back, enveloping him in warmth, the soothing sound of chimes on the wind. He felt himself be pulled further up into the wreckage of the pod housing, out of the rain. Looking up he saw the face of a woman, he was lying in her lap as her hands moved with a green glow over his body, his wounds mending. She had this… soft growl emanating from the back of her throat, and he found it soothing. She was lovely, her hair an odd shade of vermillion, two markings the same shade over silver glowing eyes that watched him watch her. He could see in the light of her magic her ears, long and arching behind her head, almost seeming to be tipped in tufts of fur.   
  
_"Sleep now, star child. You are safe_." Her voice was melodic, purring and though he did not understand her words… the message was passed and he fell into a dreamless sleep.  
  
He awoke to a rocking feeling, realized as his nose was still filled with the scents of the sea, he was on a boat. Opening his eyes he could see the storm had passed, and see a tree line but nothing like he knew. Looking about he saw his savior sitting above him, his head in her lap. She smiled at him; it was like sun on the water, warm and brilliant. She looked up and he followed her gaze. Standing at the far end of the small craft, using a large pole to push them along the shore, was another woman of the same species. She was different, one ear short, the markings on her face like claw marks, magenta in color. The wind played with her tied back purple hair. She was dressed in leather and mail armor, two large axes strapped to her hips, a quiver of arrows to her back. She nodded to him and his savior before looking over the rail, pointing. The green haired healer helped him look up enough to see the Exodar, encased in a mountain or rubble, small camps set up around the outside. His eyes were drawn to something running along the beach at the same pace as the small boat.  
  
It was a beautiful animal. Fur the color of midnight, striped with silver-gray fur he imagined it would be nearly invisible in the woods it ran beside. The feline was massive, paws eating up the sand as it kept an easy pace. He could see the fangs, large like daggers, hanging from powerful jaws. It reminded him of the cat he had seen before but it wasn't the same.   
  
Soon they came to the beach, where a large pier was being constructed. More slender, long eared natives were working in the area, though keeping their distance from the Draenei, who seemed to be doing the same. Some called out greetings to the new arrivals, and it was the violet haired woman who responded, her voice deeper than he would have imagined. He was surprised once again as he watched the males go back to what they were doing, and the two females with him lifted him up, he was on a stretcher and never realized it, to carry him to camp. The cat jogged beside them easily, and by Chaaran's estimation stood just up to his own hip, it was massive. The cat looked at him… really looked at him It's eyes glowed amber with an intelligence that reminded him once more of the beast who'd saved him. It was looking for something in him, his gaze reminding him of the ones the Telredor anchorite always gave him before it looked away, chuffing and growling. The violet haired woman laughed and spoke rapidly in her language, looking down at the cat, speaking to it.  
  
Days passed and he saw the two women, Night Elves he learned, were in and out of the camp. Sometimes they had more survivors with them; other times supplies, meat or news. Leaders of each of the casts were learning the language they spoke, called 'common' but there was the melodious, flowing speech that they shared on their own only those of their species seemed to know. As people who knew this 'common' became more numerous the lessons continued but he liked to learn from his two saviors, who seemed just as happy to visit and help him.  
  
The cat was ever present at the violet woman's side, rarely leaving it. They seemed to communicate together well, and he remembered then the word… she was a Tracker. As he began to mend and regain use of his right arm the green healer, who he learned was a 'Droo-id', had indeed been both the one who healed him, and the creature to defend him. One day she showed him how she shifted, from the elf to the 'bear' to the 'panther' and to a spotted 'cheetah'. Each time she shifted as if she was supposed to be in those other forms, and was only an elf for the convince of others. Each form also maintained the markings on her body. Down her arms were bands that looked different though; a worg's head made of swirling ink, like it had been blown away in the wind. He could make out the form of it curled around her biceps, below the moons on her rounded shoulders.   
  
"Those are my name." she explained, running her hands over them. Each looked as if the worg was howling at the shadow, scattering it to create its form, chasing it in an endless circle. "I am known as 'Black Howling'."   
  
He tried her name a few times, stumbling over it and she slowed down to each syllable. He got it after a few moments and she beamed at him.  
  
"What are you called?" she asked, and for a moment he swore her still fur capped ears were twitching happily.  
  
"Chaaran." He blinked at her, realizing they had indeed never been introduced. She butchered his name twice before getting it right and it came out more of a purr than properly spoken but she seemed to have a purring accent in common anyway. Chaaran caught sight of the Tracker and her companion returning to camp, moving towards them.  
  
" _Sister_ this is Chaarran." Black Howling said, beaming up at the older woman. Chaaran asked the word she said but it was the Tracker who responded.  
  
"Sister… she is the daughter of my mother and father, younger than I." she explained, sitting down and passing out some food. The cat sat behind her, and she leaned into him. The two moved as one and Chaaran was endlessly amazed at their symbiosis. She pointed to herself, "Aliha" then to the cat "Ferren."   
  
"Her whole name is Alihandra." Black Howling informed Chaaran, earning a glare from her elder sister.  
  
"The humans mess it up enough as is." Alee'ha… no Ali ha… no no **Aliha** … yes Aliha said. Chaaran mused the shorter version was much better. He tried the cat's name and his first attempt made the beast grimace. Which was interesting because cats weren't supposed to do that. By the fifth time he had it but the cat still looked disgruntled.   
  
It was nearly a month before his legs could hold his weight again, and before his tail could resume good function. They had talked about shortening it; the bones having severed but still stuck in the skin and had met the angry opposition of one tattooed druid. She had a thing for tails, he discovered. She had been so upset when the medic mentioned it she had shifted and tackled him, yelling at the same time. She got stuck between the two and until the new moon (according to an elder druid) would be stuck with paws, cat ears and a tail. Aliha and Ferren bid them farewell at new moon, taking a group of Draenei to see them safely to the shore line and bring a delegation to her people. Black Howling stayed a bit longer, before going to see if she could find any more who may be lost in the wilds.  
  
When the cast leaders came around, looking for people who were either unable to perform their original duties or who were willing to adapt, he told them he wished to be a tracker.


	5. Shadows and Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You never forget your first pet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one to be followed by a very long one and many feels

Ashenveil was massive. He thought the woods he grew up in were large, the trees so tall it took over an hour to get to the top. But he'd now seen bigger trees, trees big enough to house a city and towns and a people. The trees around him now were not as big but just as imposing. Even with clear weather beneath the canopy it was like twilight all day and pitch black at night. The only light that did come down was eery moonlight or the ambient glow of the wisps that came and went as they would.  
  
Howling had told him to come here, thinking it would be familiar to him in a way to the places he grew up. They kept in contact but she had duties to the Circle, whatever that was, and couldn't be with him always. Not that he was desperate for the company, even if they had enjoyed some personal time together, but he did like being on his own.   
  
He'd learned to tame a pet or two and while they did their job and were pleasant company on the road… he yearned for the relationship between himself and an animal companion that he'd witnessed between Aliha and Ferren. He'd asked how she knew to tame him and got a typical short answer.  
  
"You know when you ought to tame a beast when you look them in the eye… and they look right back at you."  
  
He hadn't understood what she meant, but she assured him he would one day. While he had a healthy respect for the Elves… sometimes they were more cryptic than his people could be. It was a night full of strange spotted moonlight near the Zoram Strand that he understood finally.  
  
He crouched over his kill, a decent sized rabbit he intended to cook, when he felt something watching him. His hand went to his crossbow carefully, stretching out his senses, trying to discern where exactly it was coming from. Looking up ahead of him finally he spotted it… a wolf.  
  
White like the mist, it approached with a silence of a cloud in the sky, eyes bright like the moon above. Their gaze met, he looked at the wolf…  
  
…and the wolf looked back.  
  
The next he walked into town the guards regarded the shadow of a Draenei who now moved as if he belonged to the woods rather than was just in them. At his side, equally quiet and at home in the forest, was his Ghost.


	6. That Night in Booty Bay We Don't Talk About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mind remembers odd things when you're about to die... Chaaran remembers a night he swore he'd forget if only for how awkward everything was.
> 
> Meet Meloraan again... and Jadira the Worst Paladin Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW stuff in this one (barely) and mentions of drinking and guessing games as to one's preference of lovers.
> 
> My apologies to Elves everywhere.

"I found one!" a voice drifts into semi-focus through the suffocating dark.  
"Comink! Easy fella… I just vish to see if he is well… that is a good pup."  
"Is he…"  
"Not breathink? No he is not but there is life in him yet." Hands push on his chest, a sensation of water in his lungs moving around feels horribly wrong.  
"I'm surprised he survived this long. Those burns look bad."  
"Nothink ve cannot fix in time." Pressure on his chest…one... two… three… fingers pinch his nose and lips cover his own…  
  
When was the last time he was kissed?  
_______________________________________________________________   
  
  
"I really don't think this is a good idea." Chaaran said looking at the shark jawed entry way to Booty Bay with a dubious expression on his otherwise passive face. Ghost whined at him in agreement, he didn't like the smells coming from the little green men or the breeze from the town.  
  
"Come on Ran you need to live a little. This will be fun and you'll thank me for it." His companion said punching him in the arm. Jadira, a fellow Draenei, hefted her axe over her shoulder. The Paladin, who hated to be called a Vindicator, had been traveling with him for three weeks. Howling and Aliha had gotten him into their 'Guild' and as he and Jadira were of about the same caliber of adventurer they had been told to work together. No one warned him that Jadira was, in her own words, 'The Worst Paladin Ever'.  
  
He was now inclined to agree.  
  
For being a Draenei she was loud, crude, rude, violent, argumentative, flirtatious and utterly clueless to her own culture. She didn't even speak her native tongue, just common. She knew everything though about the Human cities, their histories and heroes from her time with the humans in Hellfire. She needed someone to watch her back and everyone was convinced he needed company.  
  
What she needed was either a babysitter or a lobotomy as far as he was concerned. The guild seemed to volunteer him for watchdog.  
  
With a sigh he looked down at Ghost, who gave him a knowing look that told him to be ready for trouble.  
  
"Yeah I don't like it either." He muttered following behind his companion. Ghost whined but followed his Brother into the town.  
  
It took maybe thirty minutes for trouble to start, a new record of restraint on Jadira's part.  
  
Inside the bar the two sat going over various quests as he got familiar with the maps of the area and she got familiar with the local booze. Around them Horde and Alliance alike caroused and talked around dark tables or at the bar. All sorts of peoples wandered around and he found it hard not to look around.  
  
"Scoping out the eye candy?" Jadira purred at him already a bit tipsy.  
  
"No." he replied looking away from the bar of blood elves and the troll they were speaking with. He felt a little heat rise to his dark skin as she gazed at him briefly like a piece of meat.  
  
"You know I never figured you out… you know." She said pointing a wobbling finger at him.  
  
"That's not cryptic." He deadpanned glaring at her.  
  
"Shut up… I mean I don't know which side of the field you play for!" she said aghast that he had yet to grasp the part of the conversation she had started with herself. "So I'ma gunna find out…"  
  
"I'll save you some time…I slept with an elf once."  
  
"Like that answers the question… everyone's slept with a damn elf!" She hissed glaring at him. "I've slept with an elf … several actually… a few at the same time" Jadira got this far off leer on her face, remembering the time before she shook her head, flailing a hand and turning to the bar at large "… that lady over there probably has… he defiantly has!" she said pointing at patrons.  
  
"He is an elf." Chaaran pointed out in an even tone.  
  
"See my point exactly!" she smacked the table with her hand, nearly knocking over her drink before leaning in again. "Male or female?"  
  
"Female."  
  
"Oo tell me about her!" she nearly hopped in her chair with excitement before putting her elbows on the table and perching her chin on her balled up fists in excited anticipation.  
  
"She's a druid." He replied taking a sip of his brandy. "She was a good friend and a fine feral." He added not wanting to say more to his companion. Jadira gave him a long calculating look, seeming to try and read everything about him before speaking carefully voice full of suspicion.  
  
"… hunters aren't into weird animal things are…"  
  
"For the love of… NO!" he shouted a bit louder than he should have calling attention to themselves. He winced, so did Ghost and Jadira saved her drink from being knocked over as he stood up in exasperation.  
  
"Ok ok geeze chill."  
  
"Hey… Spacegoat… keep it down over there!" the voice was male, a human in plate armor, warrior by the looks of it. He looked at the angered looking man who glared at the pair of them.   
  
"Uhoh…" He wouldn't point out that the human was speaking to him… not after someone spoke those words in Jadira's vicinity. It would be pointless.  
  
"What did you call me?" her voice was acid and it made Ghost get to his feet and Ran's hand hunger for his weapon. Jadira rose to her full height and stalked over to the human who took another sip, looked her up and down and settled on her cleavage.  
  
"I said, Spacegoat… keep it down! Some of us are trying to have a drink. Bad enough you Eredar trash are…" that was all he got out before her still plate encased fist met his face, the sound of breaking bone loud to the hunter's ears.  
  
"Oh hell…" Ran muttered as the human got to his feet and his friends joined in… "It's going to be the Lion's Pride all over again." Ghost whined and hid under the table as his companion waded into the fray to hopefully save Jadira before something very stupid happened.  
  
Morning came to the uncomfortable realization he was hung over, his trigger hand had been healed wrong and he was in bed with Jadira and freaking Meloraan of all people who were screwing like Spring Rabbits. He hadn't seen the Anchorite since the Exodar battle but he apparently knew who Jadira was. It was late morning and it was **VERY** hard to think with Jadira's moans and Meloraan's harsh breathing in his ear… and the bed squeaking and the wet noise of… bits colliding…and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

That seemed to help him focus at least.  
  
He tried to recall the evening and only remembered the bar fight… and then drinking… and some draenei showing up apparently with Meloraan in tow… and some game called spin the bottle. He recalled a troll priest, and someone shouting 'Mazel Tov' and more drinking. There had been singing and he was missing his pants…and for some reason his wolf was painted up like some Troll Druid or totem spirit…most of the coloring a bright fluorescent aqua blue.  
  
Sighing he got off the bed, just in time for a position switch that took up the space he vacated, and curled up on the floor with his painted companion.  
  
Years later, he was sure; he'd be amused by all of this. Right now though he'd wait until they finished and the hangover to be less like a Fel Reaver dancing like a dwarf in his skull. After that he'd demand to find out if he was married to one of them or not.  
  
And if anyone asked… he didn't have any fun… even if he did. He just knew better than to let Jadira know she was right.


	7. Dust to Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're always presented with a choice - to cross the river or to stay on the shore. Chaaran mulls his choice over as he remembers the loss of his first pet and brother Ghost.

  
"He isn't going to make it."  
"Yes he vill… come on… Breath damn you!"  
  
A hard thump on his chest… the water sloshes…lips forcing air into his lungs…  
  
Just let me go…it will be ok…just let me go…  
  
______________________________________________________________   
  
Dirt clung to his body as he dug into the gray earth. No shovel in sight but he used his hands instead. He did not cry, but looked… empty, cold to the few party members standing around him. They were at the edge of the Bone Wastes, where the very ground was little more than ash of their ancestors. Still the hunter dug; deep enough to be buried up to his hips, working silently as the rain began to fall. The Human in the group was trying to tell him to stop but it seemed useless, he wasn't listening. The little gnome mage sat beside Ghost's body, still petting his fur. He had sacrificed himself to save her and his master. A Night Elf priest held his staff, head bowed as he prayed. The last of the group, a Harbinger, was impatient for this to end as well.  
  
When Chaaran felt he had dug deep enough he stood, walking over to pick up the body of his best friend, his companion, his brother….and placed him in the dust.   
  
"All this over a stupid **dog**." He heard the harbinger say. He placed his friend down into the dirt, nuzzling his neck with a sad whimper before getting up to face the Harbinger.  
  
"That … _**dog**_ … saved us. He was my friend… **MY BROTHER**." He found himself shouting and before anyone could stop him he had leapt upon the harbinger, plate armor and all, sending him toppling to the dust. "These hands tamed him. These hands earned his trust. And it will be with these hands I burry him! Just as I did my family in this very same dirt!" He howled at the other Draenei who was powerless beneath the fury of the hunter. He clambered off and back to the grave, slowly pushing the dirt back over the body.   
  
He was stunned as tiny hands began to help, and he looked up to the tear streaked face of the little Gnome woman as she helped. Another set of hands, the Night Elf's, began to aid as well. Soon the task was done and he was still there, in the dirt. There was a loud grunt and a cross, roughly created of two broken pieces of wood and copper wire was pushed into the dirt above the grave, the name "Ghost" carved into the crosspiece.  
  
"Brothers deserve a marker." The human said, popping the cork on a skin of wine, pouring it out on the grave. "We'll meet you in Alleran Strong hold… if you can make it back, ok?" Chaaran nodded, unable to look up at the rogue. Soon he was alone beneath the pouring sky, which cried for a man unable to since a young age. It felt like forever before he realized he was not being rained on.  
  
The Harbinger stood above him, holding his shield over him to keep off the rain. They said nothing as he stood, summoning their mounts. Chaaran's talbuk followed his companion's elekk back to camp.   
  
Months passed and he did the same old same old… He tamed new beasts, finding them adequate but not the same…  
  
Life… was empty… and so was he.


	8. Runts and Outcasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Ragabash found the Meat-Thing and learned to call him brother...and yes this is all in Ragabash's pov

Life was hard at the bottom. Last to eat, always picked on, never to mate, smallest of all, that was him. His ears were ragged with holes, his belly empty. His cinnamon fur was tinged with copper and mats of blood.  
  
Alpha had kicked him out. He was alone. No wolf should be alone. He howled to ask to return but was met with silence. The pack had spoken.  
  
He wandered aimlessly, hunger gnawing at his belly. He left familiar territory, where he had been since he was a pup, into unknown lands.  
  
That's when he found it.  
  
Sitting on the edge of a river was a curious thing. It had horns, and hooves and a big big tail… but it wasn't anything he knew. He wondered if it was made of meat, and he began to stalk it. He stepped on loose gravel and the meat-thing turned to look at him.  
  
Both looked at each other with the same look. Alone, hungry, scared…a lone wolf with no pack.  
  
He did not eat the meat-thing that day… but ate the scraps of its meal on the river bank.  
  
The next day, in the same place, more food was there, and the meat-thing sat in the same place, the food between them. It had it's and the rest was for him. The same the next day… and the next.  
  
The day after days he followed the meat-thing to a shelter, carved by time in an old tree stump. It was snowing. The meat-thing moved into the back of the area, curled up beneath a cover and it lay to sleep.  
  
By morning… they shared the space.  
  
It was nearly a week before they met eye to eye again, and he felt something move over him and he didn't want it, railed against it… but he still saw in the meat-thing the look of… alone.  
  
'We are packless… we are homeless… we have no kin." He could feel the sounds in his mind, the words of the meat-thing…and he knew. The feeling subsided and he moved to stand beside 'Chaaran'. They became a pack.  
  
And he was given a name… Ragabash.


	9. Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end

The world came crashing back from the dark and distant place he had been when the water finally relented and was forced out of him with hacking, choking coughs and retching. The hands holding him turned him to his side, one to hold him steady the other to rub his back.  
  
"That is it… all of it out… breath deep." The voice is vaguely familiar, something he's heard before over the guild link he thinks. Magic swirled around him, mending his injuries. He was aware of a small band of people around him but can't stay focused long enough between the coughing and the pain to know who or what surrounded him.  
  
 _/Ranbrother is ok now yes? Will live and will hunt and will feesh and play with JadiBoom and MelScraps and meet AliCat and Howl and will play and be ok… be ok…/_ Ragabash's words filled his head as a wet tongue laped at his face and neck even as the worg whined in worry. Ran tried to reach up to comfort him but pain scorched up his arm making him whimper.  
  
Those hands turned him on his back, laying his shoulders on something solid yet soft and warm. Hands took his arm gingerly, magic winding around the hurt. It wasn’t the Light or the Druid's healing magic, it felt different. Taking a chance he forced his eyes open to look up at the healer, blinking the fog a time or two before things come to focus.  
  
A handsome face, dark turquoise skin and disheveled long black hair fanning out on either side of his face, a necklace of little fetishes around his throat beneath his tendrils… a shaman…one of his kind.  
  
"Be at ease friend…just breath." He wanted to say it's hard to… because he just stole his breath again… but he just wheezed a deep breath to appease the Shaman and got a brilliant smile in return. "Good…keep that up my friend. You will make it."  
  
Yes… he would he mused. Around him he could hear more familiar voices, felt Ragabash curl up at his side to warm him up, and the ever present roar of the sea. He focused instead on the heat beneath his shoulders, the musk of healing herbs and male as the Shaman continued to work over him.   
  
When the dark came it wasn't frightening, all consuming void… just the caress of sleep's embrace…and the memory lips once again on his own.


End file.
